


Demonology

by mason_the_lorekeeper



Series: Demonology [1]
Category: Custom - Fandom
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angels, Angst, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Canon LGBTQ Female Character, Canon LGBTQ Male Character, Character Development, Demons, Devils, Elemental - Freeform, Fantasy, Gen, Love, M/M, Magic, Multi, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Regicide, incubus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25934053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mason_the_lorekeeper/pseuds/mason_the_lorekeeper
Summary: The realms are in turmoil once again. Fane, the equivalent of Heaven, and Reave, the equivalent of Hell, are at war with one another where previously they were more closely bonded than any of the other realms. One demon, Arin Atticus, knows the truth about what caused the shift, and has been imprisoned for his knowledge. He knows that it is on him to reveal the truth, but how can he while locked in a cage? How can he when Reave's king is no longer kind of heart, and instead tries to crush Arin every chance that he gets?
Relationships: Maverik&Arin, Maverik&Maria
Series: Demonology [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882165





	Demonology

Two men enter, but only one will leave with his life. This is the famous Colosseum of Reave, known for its carnage, bloodshed, and fabulous awards for the victors. The place is also known for one specific challenger, one who fights within its walls every single day.  
A new battle is about to begin. A new challenger drops over the spectator’s balcony and into the empty ring, already bearing a great sword and sporting leather armor.  
“Where is this one you call your Champion?” he demands in an all-too-boastful tone, not uncommon among the denizens of the realm. He has dark brown skin smeared with ash and a pair of curly horns adorning his square head.  
 _Damn, here we go again. Another one of these._  
There are two gates in the main colosseum; one of them is an exit, and the other is to a cage of sorts. A shadowed figure is in the caged-off section, but after this ebony demon makes his entrance, the gate is lifted and allows the figure’s release.  
 _It’s about time._  
He makes his way out into the open, bright lights cast down upon him. The figure stands in the middle of the field, facing up toward the black sky with his arms held out in front of him, each one gripping the handle of a battle-worn scimitar. His blades are crossed, and his opponent crosses his own blade over his chest after seeing the gesture. The stanced-up figure’s skin is a faded red; he has two bent ebony horns of his own, and a spaded tail reaching his calves. Every inch of his body ripples with muscle and scars, unprotected by any armor.  
The opposing imp saunters closer, and they begin to walk their taunting circle. “So, this is the very king’s champion? This man right here? What kind of fool comes to a battle without any armor?”  
“I wear no armor because I am no coward.”  
The ruddy demon scowls at his challenger, smoke trailing up and away from his horns, his bare footsteps leaving the sand beneath them hissing. The ebony demon only scowls back and shakes his head.  
Without another word, he charges forward and slashes downward with all his might at the champion, who dives to the left and then behind the other. The champion slashes the ebony one’s hamstrings, getting the first blood of the day on his blades and sending his foe to his knees before the battle had even really begun. He walks around to the man’s other side; there’s a pathetic attempt made to swipe at the champion, but the man traps the offending broadsword with his blades and twists it aside, coming in close to whisper to the all-too-prideful imp.  
“Did you actually think you would win against someone who has been sparring their entire life, who has been built to fight in this damn arena?”  
A pause. The man on his knees tries to get up, he tries to struggle, but in the end only manages to whimper. The red demon has him pinned, in a way. He’s been got.  
“I’m sure you did, but now you have to pay for your failure.” The champion pulls away from his victim with restrained emotion, tugging away their sword and casting it aside. He kicks them onto their back and stabs them through the heart, watching them reach for the sword and writhe in pain for mere seconds until all is still.  
Arin stands over the body, holding his weapons high for the audience above him to see, his expression still blank if tired. Some cheer and applaud, but most are quiet, and a select few even boo.  
“Not enough blood!” One dares to shout, just making the champion roll his eyes. Soon another denizen drops down into the arena, charging at him, and then another. So, a bloody and wild battle begins.  
It continues on this way for hours: challengers dropping in, being felled by the champion they mock, the field getting soaked with freshly shed blood, on and on. It continues so long that he actually starts to tire and take hits, the battles lasting longer, the opponents seeming more daunting until finally one is too much for him to handle.  
Just as he collapses, however, he gets pulled out of the arena and is replaced by another fighter. He cannot be allowed to die. Not again.  
The very next morning he is awoken harshly with cold water to the face, drug out of the cold stone cellar he’s forced to stay in, and has his deepest cuts healed so he will have the strength to fight once more.  
Every day he fights and wins until he is too exhausted to continue. Every day his willpower breaks down a little further, and he knows there isn't much time left before he loses it.  
 _I need to get out of here._


End file.
